


Tall Pawn

by Cesare



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Dreams, Mind Games, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-27
Updated: 2010-09-27
Packaged: 2017-10-14 11:05:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/148628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cesare/pseuds/Cesare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His mouth doesn't move, but the shape of his eyes changes like he's smiling. "Maybe I just like having you around."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tall Pawn

"There's nothing to be embarrassed about, everyone does it. So, get it out of your system," says Arthur, feet kicked up onto the desk. They're the only two left in the studio as the shadows get long, the sun low and golden.

"Get what out of my system?" asks Ariadne.

Arthur puts on a wide-eyed expression. It looks really unconvincing and kind of doofy. "How do I know I haven't been dreaming _all along?"_ he mock-gasps.

"I'm not really much for Philosophy 101. Anyway, I thought that's what the totems were for." Ariadne presses her palm against her hip, her bishop a familiar weight in the pocket of her jeans.

"Yeah, but if you started out dreaming," says Arthur, back to his usual deadpan, "the totems would be part of the dream, right? What if _life_ is but a dream?"

She meets his gaze, trying to decide if he's fucking with her or flirting with her or what. No telling. She runs the zipper on her sweatshirt up and down, feeling the metal tongue between her fingers, the embossed letters against her thumb.

His face doesn't give anything away, but all at once she's sure, and she yanks the zipper head off and presses it in the air like a pushpin, and pulls it down. The air in front of her parts, and her view of the studio sags aside like it's painted on canvas; in the rip in the air, she sees the backyard of her grandparents' house, the heavy limbs of the orange trees.

"I'm impressed," says Arthur. "It's harder, when it's someplace you go every day. It's not as easy to use that trick of remembering how you got here."

"Is that why you've had me staying at the studio this week?" Ariadne asks. "For this exercise?"

"Could be," says Arthur. His mouth doesn't move, but the shape of his eyes changes like he's smiling. "Maybe I just like having you around. See you out there," and he tips himself out the window and he's gone.

She's been practicing, because being able to wake up any time seems like a good skill to cultivate, but it's still hard to jump after him. She can't look down; she stands on the sill with her back to the street, locks her knees and shifts her weight backward, and then she's falling and then she's awake.

The other chair's already empty. She stands up in the sheltered dim of noon in the studio, the blinds down and louvered shut. Her bishop knocks over at a tap.

She gathers up her latest sketches. She remembers how she got here, and she remembers she's showing her latest mazes to Dom over lunch.

It really is almost sunset by the time she sees Arthur, timing with a stopwatch while Eames unlatches and flips open the PASIV case, over and over again.

"Your best time's still slower than Yusuf," says Arthur. "Take a break."

"Always a bridesmaid," says Eames, draping into a chair.

Arthur looks up at her and gives her the corner of a smile. "Hi."

"Hi. Thanks for the Philosophy 101 lesson," Ariadne says.

"What?"

"Earlier," she says. "In the dream."

He gazes back at her, perfectly straightfaced. "Weren't you practicing alone?"

Behind him, Eames smirks.

Right. Forger.

Then again, who knows what's behind Arthur's impassive face. It hits her again: she's been in both their minds, but she doesn't know these guys. She has no idea if Arthur is fucking with her now, or if Eames was fucking with her before.

Fucking with her, or flirting. No telling.


End file.
